The Hylian Warrior
by DreamWeaver010
Summary: Sequel to Kokiri Warrior. Letting Savannah go has broken Paris—no longer is he the handsome solider that Queen Zelda hand raised, now he’s a disgusting debauched drunkard. And Savannah, once KokiriGerudo, has found herself in a delicate condition.
1. Gerudo Again

**Chapter 1: Gerudo Again**

Why did she always wake up with pain? Why did her insides always twist and turn and leap and jump? Why did her skin always itch and crawl, her pores always burn? Wren tossed and turned, clutching her stomach as she felt her body expand. It was happening again, the transformation.

It had been nearly a month since she'd taken the reversal potion Paris had offered her. The first week back in her Forest had been blissful—she'd played and frolicked and not worried about anything. She'd become reacquainted with her brothers and sisters. She had spent so much precious, loving time with Roarke. But not long after that, she'd started getting violently ill. Sometimes it came up on her several times a day, but she'd managed to keep the pain from her friends. Now, it was getting worse.

There was something wrong with the potion. There had to be

Shaking and feeling like she would toss her cookies, she raised her hand up into the stream of moonlight that fell through her open window. It was not a Kokiri hand; not her child's hand. It was a Gerudo hand. The skin was darkened by the sun, the nails were long and white, the knuckles strong, the ligaments and finger muscles there, obvious.

She moaned; it was that or scream her hurt to the world.

Repeatedly, she'd gone through half-transformations back into the creature the Gerudo had turned her into. It was never a complete change, and was always gone by morning. The pain was becoming too much; the potion was fading, unable to keep her in her true form. One of these times she would not go back to being Kokiri. The thought terrified her.

Some kind of screech pierced the air. Wren went temporarily still, despite the clawing in her stomach that bade her move, and listened. There was no repeat of the scream that she could hear; only the Forest's night song played. Tucking her head back to her chest, she wiggled again and gained temporary relief that took the edge off.

"Wren?"

She looked up with a jerky motion. Roarke knelt at the top of her ladder, crawling into her dark tree-home. As he came through the moonlight, she saw his face, his eyes shocked and glazed over, his mouth, nose, and brow wrinkled in something like disgust as he looked her over. She tried to get up for him, tried to smile, but doubled back over in pain, grimacing.

Roarke felt sick to his stomach, anger, fear, disgust, and anguish boiling together in his abdomen. He reached his hand to touch Wren's shoulder, to comfort her because she was obviously in pain, but stopped when he saw her skin. Her body was huge; no longer the child's. Her skin was sun-tanned. Gulping back bile, he gripped her shoulder, tightly. Her skin was cold and clammy with sweat. Her hair gleamed in the moonlight as she tossed her head—brown with bloody black locks interwoven.

"Roarke…who screamed? Are they—they alright?" Wren gasped out between stabs of pain.

Roarke gulped, watching helplessly as she writhed. "Wren…you screamed."


	2. Fleeing the Forest

**Chapter 2: Fleeing the Forest**

Wren woke, exhausted and wanting to sleep more, but unable to get comfortable enough to doze back off. The space around her felt cramped, too small, and every time she tried to stretch, her feet or arms bumped something, no matter which direction she stretched in.

Giving up, she opened her eyes, squinting against the harsh sunlight that filtered through the window and open doorway. She lay on her back, looking up at the wooden ceiling above her, trying to let her stomach settle. She always hurt at night, when she was alone, but last night had been the worst. She already dreaded tonight. How much more pain could she take? She didn't know.

Turning her head this way and that to stretch, she saw first her clay jars on one side, then…Roarke was huddled in the corner, between the bed and the dresser, his legs curled up to his chest, his arms around his legs, tears streaming down his face, his eyes fearful, his mouth quivering. His whole body shook, she could see it easily enough, and he gave off the fear of a deer caught in a bright light.

"Roarke," she mumbled. Her voice was hoarse and strange, yet familiar. Roarke, if it were possible, shrank in on himself more, his eyes shut tight, forcing more tears down his face. He shook his head furiously.

She sat up, slowly, her body aching. "Roarke," she mumbled again, this time finding the easy balance in her voice and eliminating the sleep-drugged sound. She reached her arm out to him, but he opened his eyes, saw what she was doing, and screeched, scrambling toward the door along the wall, away from her. It didn't matter, though, because her arm had stopped moving as she stared with dumb disbelief at her hand. It was not a Kokiri hand. It was not her hand. It was the hand that had wielded a sword, a bow, a knife, the hand that had carved things from wood, that had fletched arrows, that had wielded the reins on a mighty and powerful horse. It was the hand that had touched Paris so gently while he made love to her.

The potion had not worked, at least, not permanently. She was once again that strange cross between Kokiri and Gerudo. One part of her sank low and heavy in despair and ache. The other felt free, like some terribly heavy burden had been lifted. As the flood of emotion washed through her and over her face, Roarke was scrambling over things to the door, tearing the cloth covering as he yanked on it on his hasty way down. The sound of the ripping fabric brought her out of her daze and she looked up, her hand still held out in mid air.

She suddenly couldn't breath; her home was too small, too confining; she needed the fresh air. The Forest air. She stumbled toward the door, her limbs not working properly, her arms too long, her fingers not gripping, her knees buckling under her. With a crash, she reached the door, but as she grabbed hold to get down out of the tree-home, her left knee bumped something. The right knee refused to stiffen to take her body's weight and she plummeted out of the tree, all fifteen feet, straight to the hard dirt ground.

She hit with a heavy thud that totally knocked the air out her lungs and rendered her paralyzed for a long moment, blinking rapidly up at the sunny blue sky laced with tall, fresh green trees.

She gasped in the clean, cool air, her chest heaving greatly, then forced her uncoordinated and bruised limbs to push herself up. As her range of vision increased to encompass a lot of the village, she was horrified to find everyone staring at her. They had the look of a people who'd just witnessed something unfathomable. Their eyes were wide with fear and confusion, their mouths agape, their steps toward her absentminded, some reaching out to touch her.

Wren held her breath as they moved in on her, surrounding her. It wasn't a menacing surrounding, but one of curiosity. She did not feel threatened as they started touching her skin. They started chattering to themselves and others, a consistent noise that was low but easy enough to understand. The wonder and awe and interest in their voices were easy enough to mark.

It was then she realized she was practically naked, her Kokiri clothing shred away on her grown body. She was barely covered. Suddenly embarrassed by her state of undress and their probing stares and touches, she tried to stand, gently pushing some of the hands away.

Mido suddenly stepped through those gathered. He was the self-appointed leader of the Kokiri children, and mean as hell. His frown was terrible to endure for Wren, as was the hate that shone brightly in his eyes as he assessed her.

Heedless of her larger size, surrounded by her friends, her brothers and sisters, Wren felt her insides go cold. Mido picked up a rock that was behind his feet and hefted it in his hands. His frown still in place, he lifted his arm and threw the rock at Wren.

As it struck her upper arm, the Kokiri fell silent, a heavy oppressive silence. Eyes shifted from Wren to Mido, to the rock on the ground, to the bruise on her arm, then back around again. The tension was terrible.

Wren tried to push herself up, but found that she couldn't move with the weight of all those eyes on her.

"Kill it." Mido said, his voice low. "Kill it now."

Silence and stillness reigned for another long moment, Wren staring with astonishment that Mido would dare order something like that, knowing in her heart that the Kokiri were not a killing people, but also knowing many followed Mido whole-heartedly. The mean little Kokiri's word was like law to them. The children around her seemed locked in statue-like form, only their eyes shifting…

Until one of them picked up a pebble and threw it at her. Wren flinched away from it; her skin was still sore from the transformation. Then the spot where Mido's rock had hit her arm began to throb.

The noise started up again. This time, though, it was dangerous and dark and horrible. Their eyes changed from the glazed over look of wonder to one of determination and something akin to hate, something bad, negative. Some picked up rocks, others found sticks.

Whatever they could use, they used. They pelted her with their rocks, little and big, they whacked her with their woody sticks, over the head, on her back, her legs, in her stomach. They closed in on her, now with the intent of suffocating, beating to death, oppressively. Mido led the charge, hitting the hardest and most often.

Wren struggled to her feet, but even in her adrenaline-soaked state, her appendages did not work the way they used to, the way she needed them to. She stumbled, her legs giving out, her knees knocking, feeling the weight of the things they threw.

They chased her. She half ran, half crawled, half stumbled away from them, toward the exit where they would not go, would not follow her.

Her gaze became focused on the exit of the Forest, the only place where, should she managed to get there, they would leave her be. They would not leave the Forest. She had to get there, she must get there.

A goal in her mind, something concrete to hold on to, she stumbled forward with new determination. She tried to ignore the pain that was erupting all over her tender body, but it was hard.

Mido jumped in front of her, with a stick in his hand, and swung. He hit her face, her nose, making it bleed freshly. She cried out in pain, grabbing her nose, trying to staunch the blood, watching it flow through her fingers. The delay he had caused her was a deadly thing; they were climbing on her, weighing her down, she could not move for their mass on her.

She screamed a cry of pain and rage. And hurt. Tears streaming down her face, her blood flowing freely from cuts and gashes, bruises forming, she stumbled on, and suddenly the pain they inflicted on her died away. She just didn't feel it any more. Neither did she realize it until she was there, but she'd reached the exit. They had stopped but were still throwing their sticks and rocks at her.

She didn't realize she was free of them, only that the ground met her, and it wasn't a gentle meeting.


	3. End to the Kokiri Warrior

**Chapter 3: End to the Kokiri Warrior **

A cool cloth was placed on her forehead. Wren opened her eyes as much as she could, but tears immediately came from the effort and she blinked rapidly in small half-circles.

A soft, feminine voice floated on the air to her ears. She couldn't see; everything was dark, but she grasped at that voice as it chanted to her in some language that she didn't understand. Supple hands touched her body, skimming over her nakedness; her scraps of clothing were gone now. When the hands reached the bottom of her left leg, fiery pain shot through her. The pain made her delirious, her head spin, and even holding fast to the voice almost proved to hard to do. Then a scratchy blanket was pulled over her from her feet, tucked up beneath her chin.

She felt bruised and sore and really bruised when she tried to move.

"Rest, child," the voice that belonged to those hands said. "Be easy,"

Wren, exhausted, heeded the advice, falling the scant half-inch back to her pallet.

All at once she realized she was in a tent when a tall Hylian yanked the cloth cover from over the door. The light was harsh on her eyes and she flinched away.

"Drop that drape, Kyle." The old woman hissed at him. Kyle did as she had commanded him, stepping inside, but she was again blinded, the tiny amount of night vision she had managed to acquire gone.

"She's awake?" he asked.

"Barely."

"Good," Kyle said with enthusiasm. "Give her a canteen of water and a ration of food; we're leaving within the hour."

"You cannot mean to leave her here, Kyle, she's barely—"

"I can and we will. Only look at it, some_thing_ akin to Ganon. I will not harbor a creature like it in my caravan."

"You listen to me, boy, and you listen well," Beatrice said, her voice low and angry. "I do not care if she's the very child of that monster Gandorf, you will not turn her out into the world when she's so wounded. I will not allow it. The poor thing deserves better."

"Grandmother, be reasonable—"

"You be reasonable, boy. The Goddesses work in strange ways, for goodness sake, do not treat one of Their children like rotten meat!"

"She is not a child of any of the Goddesses, Grandmother—Not Din, not Farore not even Naryu would claim the likes of…_that_."

Wren, angry and hurt by this stranger's cruel words, tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled, "Please,"

"There now, see, she wants to leave," Kyle grunted.

"Fool of a boy—you're just like your father. Be gone of my tent now. _No_, now!"

Kyle left with a last cruel look in Wren's direction and Beatrice turned back to her, and even though Wren could not see for the darkness still, she felt the smile on the old woman's face and felt some peace return.

"I will watch over you, Wren, until you are strong enough to continue on your journey."

"How do you…"

"Shh," Beatrice pressed her finger to Wren's cracked lips and she fell back into sleep.

---------

**1 Week Later**

Wren woke slowly to the morning song and stretched gently. She was still bruised and sore, but some of the swelling had gone away. Beatrice's tent flap was pinned open, letting the wet morning air and light in. Across on the other side of the tent, Beatrice was still asleep, curled up in a small ball almost like a child. The old woman had been good to her, tending her needs and knowing what she needed almost before Wren herself did.

Wren could walk now, though not for a long time. Her left leg was especially sore from where she'd fallen hard on it in her escape of Kokiri Forest. But despite the throbbing that always came, she walked around the camp everyday. Usually alone. Beatrice came with her sometimes, but for the most part, Wren walked along the fringes of the camp, watching the children play and the adults talk in small groups, watched them work and mend and cook and clean and weave. Some looked at her with fleeting curiosity, but most ignored her. They followed their leader, Kyle, in his dislike of her.

The same way the Kokiri children had followed Mido when he'd turned on her without a second thought.

She wrinkled her face at that thought; that betrayal still left a bitter taste in her mouth. Mido, quick- and hot-tempered that he was, she might could understand in his instant hatred of what she was, but the other children? Her friends and family, those she had played with for as long as she could remember? Kokiri with each of whom she had special memories, special times. How could they betray such a friendship as that?

And Roarke…

He had not been attacking her with the others, but neither had he come to her rescue. He had abandoned her, too.

_No,_ she thought. _I am being too harsh on them. They are too innocent to understand. The blame is mine and mine alone. The fault of it is my burden to carry._

Discouraged and disheartened, she tossed the covers from over her legs and limped out of the tent, intent on her morning walk around the fringes of the people she now accompanied.

---------

**2 Weeks Later**

"You seem quite improved."

Wren turned and looked over her shoulder. She had been filling a jug with creek water for Beatrice, who had determined to pass along a few of her cooking techniques. Kyle stood back off the bank of the quick-flowing little creek with his hands on his hips and a slight frown that drew his face in on itself.

"Beatrice says I'll be strong enough to go about my way soon."

"Hmm, soon, she says," he nodded with a pleasant tone as if he understood. "Soon, she says, but she'd keep you if she could."

"I would not burden her in such a way."

"No, I'm sure you wouldn't," he said, coming to kneel next to her. "But perhaps…you wouldn't have to."

An instant chill went down Wren's spine and she turned her eyes, but not her head, and saw that Kyle's eyes were on her breasts. His eyes were big and lit with a lust she had not seen, but suddenly realized had been there from the start.

Her large jug full, she stood, closing the lid over the water lest it splash out as she hurried back to the safety of Beatrice. Kyle followed her movements, rising slower beside her, his eyes roaming further down, then returning to her breasts.

"If you please me…I might be persuaded to keep you." He reached his hand out toward her, slowly at first, so that she couldn't quite believe what he was doing, and then so swiftly she couldn't stop him. He cruelly grabbed hold of her right breast and squeezed, his fingers digging into the tender flesh. He pinched then released, then pinched again and a gross smile spread across his face.

He was hurting her. "Come back to my tent when you've taken the water to—"

She slapped his hand away with a hard sting and he released his grip, his pleasure turning to anger, but the lust didn't leave his eyes. If anything, it grew brighter. "Don't be foolish. You've no where to go but to me. No one would take a creature like you in. You've no where to go."

Her heart pounding in her ears, her throat dry and her tongue stuck to the bottom of her mouth, she only stared mutely, horrified at him.

He stepped closer, enjoying the fear that made her eyes wide. "You'll be my slave, obligated to fulfill my every desire." In a jerky motion, he reached out and around her, grabbed her bottom in his hands and clutched at her, pulling her toward him so that her front was pressed to him. She felt him hard against her hip; the violence aroused him.

He licked her ear, then whispered, "Can you imagine? Me inside you…"

Disgusted and still unable to speak, Wren did the only thing she felt she was capable of: she reared one knee and hit him hard squarely between the legs. He grunted, then hissed, then backed away, falling to the ground, his hands over his wounded swollen flesh.

She ran, the water jug still in her hand, she ran up the slope, her gaze fixed on where she knew the camp was, where other people were, where Beatrice was. There, she would be safe.

He tackled her from behind, knocking her down, kicking and fighting the whole way. The breath was knocked from her lungs so that she lay paralyzed for a brief moment, struggling to breath and get over the shock. Kyle took advantage of her disadvantage and turned her over, shoving her legs apart and his knee against her. She lost hold of the water jug, but as he crawled up her, his hands groping and pinching, coming to her breasts and squeezing, pushing the twin globes together and smothering his face in the cleavage there, she brought her hands down in one large fist onto his head. Once. _Twice._ The dull _thud_ sound her hits made were sickening, and they hurt her hands, but he fell back, holding his head, and she found the strength to grab her water jug and run.

She ran and ran and didn't stop until she had reached Beatrice, sitting at the fire, mixing the contents of one bit pot over the flames. Wren fell, sobbing, her head in Beatrice's lap.

"Child, what's wrong? What's happened?" Beatrice tried to sooth her, running her wrinkled old hands over Wren's hair, but nothing would calm the girl. In the end, Beatrice just held her until the tears stopped flowing and sleep took her over. She slept almost a whole day.

---------

**3 Weeks Later**

Wren stepped out of the wolf skin tent and into the morning sun. It was cool out, and she was grateful for the skins that Beatrice had managed to barter and turn into passable clothing of pants and a shirt that wrapped around her, under her arms. A charm of the Goddess Din hung around her neck on a long string, the breeze catching hold of it.

Today was it.

She was mostly recovered from the bile of the potion and the attack she'd suffered from Mido and the other Kokiri. Looking back now, now once the anger was gone, she did not know how to feel, and in fact preferred it that way. The Kokiri chapter in her life was over; she could never go back. She missed Roarke, wondered what had become of him, but there was nothing for that.

Wren was able to go now, to leave the caravan. One part of her was overjoyed—the stares and rudeness of those around her was heart-wrenching, but another…another was loathe to leave Beatrice. In a few short weeks, the old Hylian woman had become like a mother, not like Yetta, her Gerudo surrogate mother, had been but like the loving maternal figure she'd needed.

But she couldn't wait to be rid of Kyle.

As Wren stood there, letting the cold breeze pick up her hair and blow it around, Beatrice came from the tent and stood next to her, watching the sunrise.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? I fancy imagining that this is what the earth blazed like when Din carved it."

"Perhaps," Wren said softly, contemplating her own thoughts.

Beatrice turned toward her. "You're leaving today, aren't you, child?"

Wren turned sad eyes on Beatrice and gave a solemn nod. "Thank you, for—"

Beatrice touched Wren's cheek, turning her face. "Do not thank me child. I enjoyed having someone so easy to talk to. Besides, it was the Goddesses' will."

Wren brought her hand up to cover Beatrice's. The old woman had been kind to her, and she would never forget it.

"If you ever need anything…"

Beatrice smiled. "I will look for you. Now go, before Kyle finds you still here."

Wren shivered at mention of the bastard, but conceded the point. "I'll never forget you,"

"Nor I you."

Wren turned and went to the white and brown stallion she was taking with her. The horse was packed lightly with a spare change of clothing Wren had worked on with cloth from Beatrice, a small wheel of cheese, bread, some dried meat and berries, and a canteen of water.

She mounted and gently nudged Rosemary into a canter, and once they were moving at a decent pace, Wren turned back around and lifted her hand in farewell. Beatrice's small frame was disappearing with the distance and the new morning light, but Wren saw her raise her hand also.

Upset longing filled the pit of Wren's stomach. The little bit of safety and security she had felt with Beatrice was falling away with each step Rosemary took; her shell of protection was falling away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

But it didn't matter. Anywhere she could find happiness and safety would never fill her for long; she knew she had to find Paris. She owed it to herself to find her lover, to herself and to him. He had been courageous enough to let her go, but now that her life as a Kokiri was permanently behind her, there was nothing to keep them apart.

She headed for Hyrule Market, the busy little town that surrounded the Castle. If she was to find word of her Hylian warrior, she would find it there.


	4. The Marketplace

**Chapter 4: The Marketplace **

The market was so busy, teeming with people, haggling over booth items, running around with big bags and barrels on their backs. Children ran between adults' legs, chasing chickens and dogs. One man was watering the flowers that were arranged along both sides of the center lane, a couple who seemed totally absorbed in each other were dancing near the center fountain.

Where to start? Who would she ask first?

Indecisive, she stepped into the path of a man carrying a bag on his back. "Excuse me—"

"Not now, missy," he said, running around her and on to another stand at the other end of the market.

Then she went to the crush of people at the stands, and despite the flailing hands and stomping feet, managed to get one woman's attention.

"My lady, would you happen to—"

The woman turned her head at her and immediately pulled away with a shriek. "Dear Goddesses, what are you? Get away from me!" the woman shoved at her. Unprepared for the physical attack, Wren stumbled backwards, falling flat on her bum, her hands braced behind her.

Uncaring and unnoticing people started stepping on her. Her fingers were pinched between cobble stones and heels, her legs kicked as people stepped over her, her head knocked when someone walked by with a bag that must have had bricks in it.

She couldn't really breath; her panic was growing. Her mind flashed back to when the Kokiri had turned on her, jumping on her, surrounding her, taking away her ability to breath.

Desperate to be up and away, Wren struggled, but she felt large and awkward, like in the Kokiri Forest. Her limbs didn't work. Her movements were uncoordinated. The people around her seemed to fall in on top of each other and her, forcing her down.

She wanted to cry, but refused to be so weak. But she was; she was too weak to fight her way to her feet. Too tired. Too discouraged. Too upset. Too starved for her lover.

A hand reached down to her suddenly, through two bodies. It stayed steady in the jostling and she stared at it.

"Come on, now," she heard a male voice say. She associated the voice with the hand and took it. The strong fingers curled around hers and pulled with a steady motion. She bumped into people, falling against one man who hardly noticed, and then she was free.

Gasping, standing on shaking legs, she looked up at the man who had helped her. He wore a hood that was deep, and the abyss that was his face was truly hidden.

He turned his head up, so that she could see inside the hood. And even though his face was still shadowed, she suddenly knew who it was.


	5. Link

**Chapter 5: Link**

_"Link?"_ Wren stared in whole disbelief at the Kokiri who had a hold of her hand. He was taller, his shoulders broader, lines around his eyes and mouth, hints of grey at his temples, but his smile was the same. His eyes danced like never before.

"Wren,"

That he would recognize her—_her,_ the half Kokiri, half Gerudo mutation—touched her deeply, somewhere profound inside where it really mattered. She warmed instantly and smiled, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes.

He pulled her into a hug and held tight; he must have known she needed that small bit of reassurance. It felt good.

They pulled away to look each other over and Wren smiled slightly, shaking her head. She had so many questions. The last time she'd seen him, he had been grown, like he was now. He'd gone through Kokiri Village, to the Lost Woods, looking for Sarah was the word that had spread.

"How did your adventure go?" she finally managed.

He nodded with a smile. "I saved Hyrule, freed the kidnapped princess and won her hand. All is good. Come," he motioned down the path, and even though she didn't know where he was going to lead her, she went with him, her arm around his waist, and his around hers.

He told her about his adventures, about how he'd acquired precious stones and friends and enemies alike. He regaled her with the tale of sneaking into Hyrule Palace to meet the Princess Zelda, dodging guards and finally finding her, watching Gandorf and her father through a window. Meeting the formidable Impa, acquiring his Fairy Ocarina, running, fighting, stalking, solving. She laughed and commented slyly in places, which made him laugh.

For those few moment, she forgot the burden on her soul. She forgot about the pain and her quest to find Paris. She felt light-hearted for those moments, and when her somber situation hit her again anew, she felt better about it, more optimistic, more open minded…more hopeful.

Her silence was his queue. "You're the one Paris sent for the potion for, aren't you?"

She closed her eyes, remembering that damned potion, and her decision when she'd taken it and left her beloved. "Yes."

"What did they do to you?" Link asked, looking her over, her darker skin color, and her strange, unique blood-red-midnight-black-earth-brown hair. His appraisal was not one of disapproval, like the Kokiri children's had been, but one of sincere curiosity.

"The Gerudo…they kidnapped me, I suppose. I only remember waking to a dark room that was really hot and feeling like I was suffocating. They forced me to drink this foul concoction and I blacked out again. I remember a chant. When I woke, I was like this," she looked down at herself as she spread her arms from her sides to emphasize _this_.

"Do you have no inkling of why they did that? Did they never tell you?"

"They trained me. They wanted me to be a weapon…and I was…" she looked away from him, ashamed. "I was a weapon."

Having said that, she felt better and looked back at him, giving him a small, sad smile. Looking up, she finally noticed her surroundings. They were approaching the grand gates that led to Hyrule Castle.

She stopped suddenly, faced with such formality and formidability.

He sensed her hesitation, and stepped in front of her, offered her a warm smile. "Come, Wren. This is my home, and I make you welcome."

"Link, I couldn't," she said quickly, stepping back.

In the space created, Link reached his hand out to her, his fingers open, waiting for her hand. "Inside, you will find a warm bath, good food, and a clean, soft bed. When you wake, we'll find Paris."

_Paris._ Link could find Paris? Of course he could; despite the humble clothing he'd worn for his walk through the marketplace, he was the King of Hyrule. If she went with him, he could help her find her love. And a bath, food and a real bed sounded so nice. If she didn't go with him, that left her on her own, and the people in the marketplace had made it clear she was not welcome there. What if everyone responded to her the way the one Hylian woman had? Could she bear that much shame? That much loneliness?

No, she could not. And she had to find Paris. _Had to._

Reaching her arm out with a decisive movement, she took Link's hand, clasping hard. He smiled, then pulled her along, on down the fine dirt path to the drawbridge, then into the castle.

It was a magnificent castle; made of sturdy grey stone that cast shade, relief from the hot summer day. There were beautiful, detailed tapestries hanging on the walls, swords and axes and shields in other places, stands with vases and miniature statues and other things. A footman came forward, bowing deeply before Link.

"Your Highness. I trust your outing was of benefit?"

"Quite, Hopkins. If you would, please have one of our guest rooms prepared for Lady Wren, a hot bath and fresh food."

"Very good, my lord."

"One more thing, where is Her Highness?"

The footman smiled. "The library, my lord, where she most always is."

Link nodded. "Very well, then, off with you."

Hopkins bowed deeply again to Link, then gave a slightly smaller bow to Wren. She stood immobile for a moment, staring after the man as he walked off to do his master's bidding. No one had ever bowed to her before, very few had showed her any respect at all. It made her feel unease. Maybe staying in Link's home was not such a good idea after all.

"This way, then. Zelda will be delighted to meet you. She's speculated about who you might be ever since Magius received Paris's request for the potion."

He led the way down a long hall, took a left twist and led down another hall, then turned right and stopped at a large door. He grasped the knob and turned it, opening the squeaky door.

"Zelda?"

There was a deep thud from somewhere deeper in the belly of the large library. Then a dainty cough followed it and then a sneeze.

Wren stared in natural wonder and fascination at the marvelous room around her. It was a large, long space, and tall. Bookshelves line the walls and more stood out in the open. There were two desks that she could see, and both were scroll-ridden. There must have been huge windows on the far wall because natural light streamed in, falling through the books and the shelves.

"Zelda, sweetheart, what are you doing back there?" Link asked as he moved away from Wren.

"I was looking for my grandmother's family tree," the queen answered as Link disappeared behind a shelf.

Wren was perplexed as to why one would want to see one's grandmother's family tree, but said nothing. She could hear Link mumbling to his queen, and her mumbled responses, but she couldn't make out anything specific.

Then Link came back out into the open, a petite, young, and very pregnant woman on his arm. She wore a simple gown with a high waist gathered right under her ample breasts so that her child's swell was rather pronounced. Wren stared at her; she'd never seen a pregnant woman before. It was fascinating.

"Zelda, this is the young one Paris had attached his heart to. Wren, my wife, Zelda."

Zelda came forward with a smile on her face, her arms outstretched. Wren half-way offered her hand, but the queen didn't notice the gesture as she engulfed Wren in a big hug.

"Oh, I'm so glad we've found you!" Zelda said as she took a gentle hold of Wren's shoulders and looked her over. "You look so tired. Link, have you had a room prepared for her?"

"A bath and food as well. We'll fill her in when she wakes."

Zelda nodded. "Alright. Come on, Wren, I'll take you to your room. We'll talk more in the morning."

Wren suddenly realized she was tired and only mutely nodded. Now that she'd allowed her fatigue into the forefront of her mind, she stumbled along with the Queen of Hyrule to her room. The queen said blessedly little, and by the time Zelda was finished giving a few brief, more specific orders to the maid called on to attend Lady Wren, Wren was asleep, collapsed awkwardly on the bed.

----------

"He-iy, did yu hear what's-s happenin' at the Cas-le?" Craig asked drunkenly as he collapsed against Paris's chair, spilling wine all over the place.

"Can't say as I have." Paris said, then took another deep drought of his wine. It had been quite a while since he'd been able to get good and drunk, but he was trying and trying hard.

"Heard from Henr-y that the-a king brought home some strange kinda cre-a-ture,"

Paris didn't respond. He didn't give a damn what was happening in Hyrule Castle. He sucked down more wine, emptying his glass. He hailed one of the serving wenches, grabbing at her plump breast to pull her to him, showing her his empty cup.

"Another glass," Paris said. "And then a room and a woman for the night."

The wench took his cup, pushed her hand between his legs and squeezed, then sauntered off, looking rather please with herself.

"You're not-a listenin' to me, Paris-s-s, my booy." Craig complained.

"You're right. What were you saying?" Paris asked absentmindedly as he waited for his refill and bedmate for the night.

"I said, the cre-a-ture the-a king brought home was-s-s some kinda Koke-ri Ger-uu-do thing."


	6. Paris's Reaction

**Chapter 6: Paris's Reaction**

Wren's stomach churned in nervousness as she turned to look at herself in the full length mirror.

It was the first time she'd seen herself in many moons. The first time she'd seen her face since becoming Kokiri-Gerudo.

Her hair was strange, black and blood red, mixed with golden brown highlights. But it wasn't ugly. When she moved her head, the long, straight mass shimmered in the daylight. Her face was not as terrible as she would have expected. She was tanned dark, but her features were not nearly as sharp as the Gerudo's were. They were softer, her nose less pointed, her chin less jutting, her eyes easier and not so hard and cold. She could still see her Kokiri blood. It relieved her greatly that she still retained some of her heritage. Looking on down the length of her body, clothed in a black gown without stays or corset, she saw that she actually looked rather…normal. The gown had a high waist, flattering her bust, trim waist and flared hips and went all the way down to her ankles, where lace-up slippers covered ordinary feet. Her face, the part of her that she had expected to show the most trauma, looked almost Hylian, even though her skin was darker then most.

"You look beautiful, my lady," the maid said as she looked Wren up then down.

"It isn't as bad as I expected either," Wren confided softly, leaning closer to inspect her face.

"I think a gentle clasp will work in your hair," the maid took up a brush and a clip, pulling her long hair back expertly, fiddling with it, pulling tight then loosening. When she was done, Wren turned her head to look at the bun the maid had made. It was loose with much of her hair hanging out in a very becoming way.

"I think you would look stunning in curls, my lady. Perhaps for the ball."

"Ball?" Wren asked, her eyes wide, as she turned to look at the maid.

"Yes, my lady. His Highness has decided on a ball, though I know not why. And with his Queen so close to her time…I'm not quite sure what he's thinking. But it's not my place."

Wren had a sinking feeling that Link was staging the ball for her. Why, she didn't know. Maybe he knew where Paris was and could command him to attend.

Her mind drifted off into the fantasy that the thought brought: She would wear something becoming and beautiful, like this black silk dress, feeling confident, knowing she could be beautiful. She would be talking, gossiping like a real lady, maybe even flirting and then, when he walked into the room, all decked out in his military glory, sword at his waist, his hand on its handle, their eyes would be drawn to each other as if by some unseen force. He would smile, dazzled to see her there, so confident and shining, all for him. He would come to her, some people would move out of his way, but others would not. But even as he dodged through the obstacles of those people, his eyes would never leave hers…And when he finally reached her, he would pull her into his arms and kiss her passionately for the whole world to see. Then perhaps he'd sweep her away...away to his chambers…

She opened her eyes and discovered they sparkled with the prospect of meeting Paris again. She couldn't wait.

"Your name?" Wren asked the maid.

"Abigail, my lady,"

"Thank you, Abigail. You've done a wonderful job. Do you know where Their Majesties are?"

"Most likely in the drawing room, my lady."

Wren nodded to herself in the mirror, then asked the maid to show her the way. Off she went, her head held high, confidence flowing through her. She felt beautiful.

--------

Paris grunted and tired to yell at the tavern keeper as he landed in the mud, but his throat was too tight and he could hardly breathe as it was.

"I let the like of you stay because you were of the King's army. No more! Be gone, riffraff." The large man who owned the tavern turned around and slammed the oak door on Paris, leaving him outside in the rain.

"Bastard," he breathed. He stumbled to his feet, trying to swallow his throat open. Too much brandy had closed it off, he supposed.

Despite the pouring rain, Paris walked along the walk like he had no care in the world. He had no where to go, so he just walked. People had scurried into shelter, either into establishments or under hanging roofs, but all were out of the rain. All stared at him as if he were stupid.

People died from catching rain colds. Well, he knew he wouldn't be that damn lucky, so he ignored the people and the rain.

"Look at you, Paris,"

Paris jerked, looking around at the voice. Leaning against one of the inns was a cloaked figure, arms crossed across the chest. The hood obscured the face, but the voice…it almost sounded familiar…too bad he'd had more than his share of brandy. Then maybe he'd know who it was. But the brandy had been good…

"Eh? What do you want?" Paris demanded, mastering the slur rather well.

"Do you not recognize me?" the man asked as he came off the wall, taking slow steps toward Paris.

Paris didn't like advances; he reached for his saber, only to discover it was gone. He looked down at his empty scabbard and growled, then looked back at the man.

"I know you're in pain, Paris, but your agony could be over very soon. Come back to the Palace with me."

_Link._ That was why the bastard sounded familiar. He was the great King of Hyrule himself.

"She's returned," Link said. "The potion Magius mixed didn't work. Wren has come back, and she's looking for you."

Paris gave a bitter laugh that hurt his throat, the rain running down his face, getting into his eyes. "I don't know any Wren!"

Link stared—Paris guess he stared, he was still enough—for a long moment. "I suppose she wouldn't have given you her real name. Savannah."

Paris physically jerked at the name, his heart beating hard as if starting for the first time in a long time.

"Savannah is in Hyrule Castle, Paris. She's looking for you, and she's—"

"Stop!" Paris jerked his arm. "I don't want to hear anything about her! She betrayed me."

"No, Paris," Link reached out for him "she did no such thing. Maybe the agony has twisted your mind, but—You let her go. You gave her the choice the Gerudo took from her."

"Leave me be!" Paris stumbled forward, intent on ignoring Link.

Link let him go, staring after him as the once honorable man stumbled in a drunken stagger. He understood that Paris was in pain, but it was needless now. Wren had returned for him. It was time to heal the wounds. And Link was intent on seeing them happy.

Link let him go. Let him have time to adjust to the fact that Wren had come for him. Because very soon now, things would go faster and he would have little time to think.


	7. Hylian Lady

**Chapter 7: Hylian Lady**

Wren had been right; the dance she'd heard about was being planned… for her. The thought made her so nervous, and yet excited at the same time. She would get to see Paris again! The thought thrilled through her as she leaned against the balcony railing and looked out over the market and the bustling people below. The wind was mild, but it was enough to move her hair away from her face. She felt free and light up there in the air, like she was almost flying.

How she missed Paris…but the hope of seeing him again, of telling him she could stay with him now, was enough to chase away any sorrows she might have. Her love was close and their meeting was inevitable.

And out of her hands. It would happen and she need not doubt that. Link had told her that morning that he'd seen Paris the evening before and imparted the news to him.

So because that part was taken care of, she had some adjusting to do. She didn't know how long she would be in Hyrule Castle. Did Paris have a home he would take her to? Or would they stay here with Link and Zelda? Either way, she would be spending much of her time here, in the immediate future and probably the distant, too. She was determined to become a Hylian lady, one worthy of Paris.

The thought of that, though, almost overwhelmed her. She had so much to learn and, having grown up in an informal setting, and then grown up hard in a place like Gerudo Fortress, she knew she did not have the background of a lady. But she would be brave.

For Paris, she would do this.

Turning around, she rang the bell pull that Abigail had said would summon her from the servants' quarters. She'd already determined to befriend the maid. That was her first step. Abigail would be invaluable in learning the ins and outs of a courtly life. She would have first hand knowledge.

Abigail arrived meekly with a small smile, coming into the room and going straight to the large doors that led to the balcony and closing them.

"Please tell me, my lady, that you've not been outside dressed like that?"

Wren looked down at the loose, comfortable gown she'd worn to bed and puzzled over it. It was thin, going down to her ankles, without sleeves and a dipping neckline that didn't try to constrict her throat. She rather liked the gown.

"Yes, I have. Why?" Wren said, looking back up at Abigail.

Abigail smiled and stifled a small laugh. "That's a nightgown, my lady, not fit to be outside in. Anyone could have seen you."

"Oh…" Wren's eyes widened. What a way to start off her lady-learning day. "I will remember that for the future."

Abigail nodded and went to the wardrobe standing in the corner. "Queen Zelda had a few of her own gowns sent to you until we've measured you and have had a few of your own made. Of course, there's a fitting scheduled for today; they need to get busy on your ball gown." She pulled out a pretty blue gown with a long flowing skirt, bellowing long sleeves and a dipping rounded neckline.

Wren became anxious. The gown was beautiful. Far too beautiful for the likes of her. Her stomach churned slightly as Abigail laid it out on the bed, then returned to the wardrobe for a shift, a basic cotton white garment that would go under the gown.

When the maid looked back up at Wren, she must have seen her apprehension. "It's a fairly simple gown, my lady. The queen has not had use for it since she started to show her pregnancy. It's been gathering dust in her wardrobe." Abigail came to her and gently took Wren's arm to pull her back to the bed.

"It's quite a comfy dress, my lady, you'll see. There'll be nothing to worry about."

Wren silently endured the maid removing her nightgown and pulling the shift over her head. This was what ladies did, wasn't it? Allow their maids to help them dress. When Abigail lifted the gown to go over her head, Wren gulped, but ignored the warning bells in her head and tilted herself down. She was much taller then the maid and it took some doing to get it over her head. Once the bottom part was over her hair it slid down her body to fall perfectly into place with a swish of the full skirt. There was barley any adjusting to do; she pulled the shift down so it didn't show over the low neckline, but other than that, it fit well.

Abigail went back to the wardrobe and then to the dresser, leaving Wren to look herself over in the full length mirror. She turned this way and that, grasped the skirt gently in her hands and twirled slightly to see the effect. The fabric danced around her legs in a becoming fashion. Then Abigail returned with slippers and a necklace. Wren sat on the bed and slipped the matching slippers onto her feet and then lifted her hair so that her maid could put the blue and green necklace around her neck. It was a little fancy and renewed some of Wren's uneasy, but she strove to hide it; the necklace and the dress matched perfectly.

Abigail led her to the chair in front of the dresser and sat her there, then lifted a brush to Wren's hair.

"You have beautiful hair, my lady. Such a strange color and so mystifying."

Wren smiled slightly, but didn't say anything. Abigail pulled it back into a loose bun, then pulled out some strands so that it was messy in a flattering way.

When she was finished, Wren turned around and smiled vividly up at Abigail from her seat. "I want to be a Hylian lady," she said bluntly, getting straight to the point. "But I don't know how. Will you help me, Abigail?"

Abigail smiled. "Of course, my lady. Will you call me Abby? It's so much less tedious."

Wren nodded. She could do that. "Abby. I'm afraid you have your work cut out for you. I have never been the best of students."

"Oh, I think you'll catch on quickly. It's not so difficult once you have the air of it."

"I hope you're right. You said there was a fitting scheduled?"

"You're not going to eat first?"

Wren paused. "Should I?"

"Yes. You're to break your fast with the king and queen."

Wren nodded. "Right then. Let's go."

Abby nodded and opened the door for her lady, letting her exit first. Then she followed behind, stopping Wren from going down the wrong halls and whispering directions under her breath as they went.

--------

Link watched from the shadows of the parlor as Jenkins tried to teach Wren how to dance. The poor girl was stumbling in her high heels, clinging to the man who was exasperated with her. It was obvious that Jenkins had never experienced such inexperience before.

Her breathing labored, Wren responded rather heatedly to something the man said and he looked dreadfully offended. Link took that as his queue and walked from the shadows like he hadn't been spying on her for the past half hour.

"My lord…I'm afraid these lessons are not going well," Jenkins said with a bow to him and a glare to Wren.

"So I gather when your partner frowns so at you. Perhaps I should take over." Link said. He knew that was a dismissal; Jenkins left the room with a regal huff for Wren's benefit.

Smiling at the frustrated man, he took Wren's hand into his to support her weight as she leaned dangerously toward him on her heels.

"First things first, Wren. Take the heels off."

"But Jenkins there said I will have to dance in them, and—"

"That is generally how it is done. Keep in mind though, my dear, that you are a personal guest and friend of the King of Hyrule. You can do whatever you damn well please. Besides, if you don't take the heels off now while there's time to learn, you'll kill Paris during the ball."

Wren conceded the point and kicked the shoes off. She lost her even height with Link, but it didn't bother her too much. He pulled her closer.

"This is the appropriate distance for partners to dance." Then he moved one of her hands to his shoulder and put his other at the small of her back. "Like this. Now sway…There you go. It is up to the gentleman to lead a formal dance, and the lady is left at ease to follow, to flow with a natural rhythm. Just like that, Wren, you're doing well."

"This isn't so hard." Wren said as she looked down at her feet, then smiled up at Link.

"It's not supposed to be. This is a pleasure event, after all. It's no fun if it's hard."

--------

Wren sighed as she held her arms up as Abby and the seamstress pulled the measure back across her breasts. She stood on a pedestal, in only her shift, and felt like a doll being measured for a dressing and playing session.

"It is tiring, isn't it?" Zelda asked from where she was resting in a thick chair, a saucer and cup of tea in her hand. She wore a knowing smile as she gazed at Wren's bored face that betrayed how tired of this she was.

"Are we done yet?" Wren asked to no one in particular.

"Soon, my lady. Soon," the seamstress promised.

Wren sighed, then gulped as her arms started to go numb, held out spread eagle for so long. She was going to go to sleep.

---------

"Manners are so important, my lady. They demonstrate good breeding, and— No, not that fork!"

The man nearly jumped on Wren as she picked up a fork to dig into the delicious looking dish. She was so hungry after the gown fitting and dancing, the lessons on how to walk in heels, how to sit, how to hold herself. She could eat a whole horse.

He yanked the fork from her hand and gently, lovingly replaced it beside the plate, then indicated the third of four forks should be used. She picked it up and stabbed a piece of meat and thrust it into her mouth.

"But I do not have good breeding," Wren told the man.

Link laughed from the other end of the table where he lounged with a wine glass in his hand, one leg tossed over the arm of his chair. Zelda sat to his right, much more properly with her back straight, her legs together and her forearms braced against the table as she took a dainty bite.

"Well," the man said, looking up at Link. "Really, my lord, how can you expect her to learn when you're not behaving yourself?"

"As I told her before—she is the friend of Hyrule's king and can do whatever she pleases."

"I want to be a lady." Wren insisted to them both.

"There you are, Wren. Self-motivation is the strongest inspiration there is. If you want to be a lady, you can. There are still plenty of hour before the ball." Zelda promised with a smile.

The ball was in six days. Wren somehow doubted that she could be transformed into a regal lady like the queen in six days, but maybe she could at least put forth the façade of it.

She was determined. For Paris. She would be a lady.

--------

His anger boiled over as he remembered the wild abandon with which Savannah had run into Kokiri Forest, away from him. The carefree way she'd scurried, the expression of happy-to-be-home on her face all disgusted him.

And after what they had done! What they had shared!

Paris nearly spit on the ground, the taste in his mouth was so vile. Link had been to visit him again, though how the king continued to find him when he was ever-moving was strange.

Link had tried to woo him for Savannah—_Wren_. Paris had pretended to contemplate what Link had said, all the while letting his anger and hurt churn in his stomach. The regal king gone, Paris was free to let his face twist in his rage.

He hated her! Hated her.

If he ever saw her again, it would be too soon…if only he could show her how much he loathed her…

…But then, he could. They all expected him to appear at this ball and fall back into love with her. They would be disappointed if he didn't show up, but even more so if he did, and he didn't…

He laughed and it was almost an evil laugh. He'd found the perfect, shaming revenge for the creature who had ruined his life. And it would be sweet indeed.


	8. A Dance to a Twisted Tune

**Chapter 8: A Dance to a Twisted Tune**

It was the night of the ball. Wren was so nervous her hands were shaking. Zelda was in Wren's room, along with Abby, tending her, trying to calm her down and help her ready. Wren greatly appreciated their efforts, but would soon desperately need a few minutes to herself.

Tonight she would see Paris. Tonight, she would sweep him off his feet and win his heart back. _Tonight_. Everything hinged on tonight. If she blew it, broke him, hurt him in anyway, she knew in her very soul that she would have to retreat. Strong as her knowledge was that they were meant to be together, her will was stronger still to bring him no ache.

"There," Abby said as she pulled the curling iron out of Wren's hair, letting a springy curl bounce with it's brethren at her shoulder. "What do you think, milady?"

Wren opened her eyes, realizing they had been clenched shut while she roamed her mind. She hardly recognized the woman who stared back at her. She was wearing a wide-necked gown that clung to her breasts, waist and hips. It was made of three layers, the under two thin black and the outer one a slightly thicker red so that the colors mixed. It went to her ankles, where she was wearing a pair of delicate black silk slippers. Her long red-brown-black hair was pulled up onto her head, left to spill out down her back and around her shoulders in riotously beautiful curls. The gown brought out the black in her hair. Her face had been lightly painted, her eyes accented and her mouth lush red. Around her neck was a black choker with black diamonds dangling. She looked dark and exotic. Fascinating.

She gulped. Did she want to be fascinating? Was the look too dark, too dangerous? She wanted to look warm and inviting to Paris, maybe… Maybe fascinating was good. Oh, how as she supposed to know? She'd never seduced anyone before!

"Here."

Wren started as she realized the queen was holding a cup out to her. Wren reached up and gently took it, looking in to see clear-ish orange liquid.

"It will help calm you, and stop the butterflies in your stomach."

Wren nodded, then took a drink, looking over the queen. Zelda, with her blondish hair and fair looks, was decked out in a pastel blue gown that drew attention to her vivid sky eyes, her hair pulled back into a gentle twist of a bun, her face pale and smooth with makeup. Abby was dressed plainly as she always was, despite the fact that she would accompany Wren through the night.

There was excitement in both of their gleaming eyes. Wren was hard pressed to feel anything except anxious. She took another gulp of the orange liquid.

There was a knock on the door, then it opened and Link came in. He was decked out in close-fitting pants in white and a light green shirt with long sleeves. He wore a dangling earring in the lobe of his left ear, and an elaborate, multi-layered bead necklace lay against his shirt. His hair was slicked back, with the ends coming to random points that curled around his pointed ears and down his neck.

He surveyed Zelda, came to her and pulled her into is arms, kissing her gently on the lips. "You look beautiful, Zelda," she smiled, then looked at Wren, who stood very self-consciously, fidgeting with her fingers. His eyes went over her, from head to toe.

Then he smiled, and melted her apprehension. "Very beautiful, Wren. I think Paris will be very much surprised."

"I hope so…" she stopped, debated with herself briefly, then confessed. "I'm so nervous."

"I was too, the first ball I attended," Link said. "Remember that you are our friend, Wren, and no one would dare slight you. They won't risk being out of favor with the King and Queen of Hyrule."

Wren nodded, gulping down the rest of Zelda's potion, feeling better and somehow more confident already.

Link offered his arm to Zelda, and she slipped hers into his, then he turned and offered his other to Wren. "It would be my pleasure to escort such lovely ladies into the ballroom. Shall we?"

Wren looked to Abby. Link didn't have three arms, what would Abby do?

Abby smiled, like she understood Wren's sudden concern. "Go on, Wren I'm a servant, I'll walk behind. Remember, tonight is for you, and for Paris."

Wren greatly appreciated the encouragement. She nodded, then stepped forward and took Link's arm. They walked slowly out into the hall, Abby locking the door, then taking up a few steps behind them at the same pace. The walk was leisurely. Wren was torn between Hurry-The-Hell-Up and Breath-Breath-Breath-Breath. But somehow she managed, all the way down that long, long hallway.

Then they were there at last, at the end of the hall that led to the stairs, where they would be announced and then descend. Link had helped her practice going down the thirty-eight stairs, so she felt fairly confident in being able to get down without tripping. They had done away with the heels, after all. But the long dress still worried her some.

There was another couple in front of them that was announced, and Wren watched as they vanished slowly down the stairs, then they stepped up.

Wren was floored and her jaw nearly dropped open. There must have been a hundred people down there in that ballroom! A hundred plus people and most of them were watching the descending couple. In mere seconds, she knew, somehow she knew, that all those eyes would return to the top of the stairs where she, Link and Zelda stood.

"Breath, Wren." Link reminded.

She yanked in a huge breath, her nostrils flaring and her eyes going wide. Oh, Goddesses, she could _not_ do this. She could _not_!

The couple reached the ballroom floor and Wren felt all the eyes move back up each stair, as if walking, then settle on them. On her.

"Their royal Highnesses, Queen Zelda and King Link!" the little man beside them announced. "Accompanied by the Lady Wren."

Applause sounded throughout the hall as Link led the ladies on his arms slowly down the stairs. Zelda was waving to the people everywhere as they descended. Wren only walked, clutching Link's arm with both hands, mutely, fascinated, paranoid, thankful for the makeup that hopefully hid some of her embarrassment. How did Link do this on a weekly basis?

-------

Paris stopped when the King, Queen, and _Lady Wren_ were announced. Wine glass in hand, he turned from the table where he had been pilfering a sweet treat to stare at the three descending the stairs. The queen looked, as always, cheerful, Link looked casual, but he could tell Wren was nervous.

Wren. She wasn't his Savannah. She looked nothing like Savannah. But she was still a traitor to him. She had still broken him. And she would still pay, dressed like a princess as she was, wearing Gerudo clothing, or naked like they had once been together. No matter what costume she wore, what game she played, she would pay.

--------

Wren didn't know if Paris had arrived yet, or if she would get to watch him walk down those stairs, but her heart pounded with the anticipation. She stayed with Link and Zelda, who were winding their way through their subjects. They greeted people by name, shook hands, Zelda gave hugs to some of the women. Everywhere they went, they introduced her. She received warm smiles, polite nods, a few bows. She could feel a good number of eyes on her, and for a moment went outside of her own discomfort to wonder what they thought: Who is this strange woman? Where is she from? Why is she with Their Majesties?

The ballroom was quiet crowded: people everywhere, single persons navigating the masses, groups of men and women and both, couples where walking together, dancing together in the middle of the floor. The ladies' gowns were colorful, all colors of the rainbows, earth tones, pastels as diverse as the world around her. The gentlemen were dressed just as differently, but their color range was a bit more modest and sedated. Still, their choice of clothing style was elaborate. There were bellowing shoulders, sweeping skirts, loose shirts, tight shirts, loose pants, tight pants, tailored waist coats, ruffles, embroidery, draping silk, slippers and boots and so many more things she couldn't put a name to.

And the smells! Each women Wren encountered was wearing a different perfume. One smelled like flowers, another scent reminded her of water, another of honey. Zelda had shared her perfume with Wren, something spicy orange. It had smelled good when they'd sprayed it on, but she couldn't smell it now and worried that when she encounter Paris, he wouldn't be able to smell it either.

She smiled as they went; some of her tenseness went away. Just melted with each new smile, each new favor turned toward her.

The musicians started a lively dance and a slight cheer went up. Men were holding out their hands, whispering sweet nothings, and whisking their women away to the floor for the little mad dash of movement.

"May I have this dance, my lady?"

Wren turned in shock to see a bright young man, wearing a soldier's uniform, his light brown hair neatly messy as it fell to his ears and over his forehead, holding out his hand to her. She looked from his smiling face to his outstretched hand and her worry returned. She looked back at Link.

"Go on, Wren."

"But—Paris?"

"He won't mind, I'm sure. It _is_ only a dance."

Wren gulped, nodded, then turned back to the young man, whose eyes were gleaming with hope. She bit her lip, put her hand in his and watched his fingers close around hers. He led her out onto the floor, pulling her toward him as he started to sway to the music, drawing her along.

"I've never danced before," she confessed.

He looked like he couldn't quite believe her. "Really? Why ever not?"

"No one has ever asked me," she answered truthfully, refusing to let him know that there had never been a time to dance like this in her life before now.

"Then I am a lucky man. You are a beautiful dancer, my lady,"

Wren felt beautiful, free, graceful. The man's smile had her smiling back and enjoying herself.

"What's your name?"

"Malcolm," he said. "My friends call me Mal, though. Yours?"

"Wren," she said, feeling a little breathless from the quick movements.

He smiled. "Where are you from, Wren?"

He could tell that she wasn't Hylian? She felt her stomach grow heavy again, but she hid it well with a practiced smile. "Very far away, actually."

"Really?" I would have placed you as from Eastern Hyrule."

Relief swamped her. He figured her for Eastern Hyrule? For a Hylian? That was one of her many goals—one burden was now off her shoulders.

The dance came to a close and he led her from the unmarked square that served as the dancing floor. "Do you wish to return to Their Highnesses?" he asked.

She should, but she felt exhilarated and relished her sudden freedom. "No, I'll be fine on my own, I think." She offered him a smile of thanks.

"I enjoyed the dance, my lady. Perhaps we will meet again?"

She nodded. "It is a small world, after all."

He smiled. "Yes, it is. Good afternoon, Lady Wren."

Wren watched him walk away with a young amble that proclaimed a devil-may-care attitude, one carefree, laid-back. He was a nice man. She didn't know how old he was, or how tested by his uniform, but if she did meet him again, she felt he would be a good and loyal friend. One thing the bouncing back and forth of her life had taught her was an excellent judgment of character.

_"Lady Wren_… You may hide behind that name, but I wonder, are you really a lady?"

Her heart stopped, then picked up a faster beat, her palms going clammy. Paris—it was Paris's voice. She jumped, turning on her heel so fast she almost teetered. He didn't reach out to catch her, as Link had done many times (and said it was gentlemanly to do so) and when she saw his face, unsmiling, draw in lines she did not remember, the words his voice had spoken sank in. He wasn't happy. He wasn't merry or laughing. He gave off a cold aura, something that made everyone around them take a step away from him and avert their eyes. His eyes….they were dark and dull, not the lively things she recalled. What had happened to him?

"Paris," she whispered his name, something between dread and elation filling her.

"Savannah," he said, his lips barely moving, his voice a thread of sound. He said it coldly and it made her heart go cold with fear. He said Savannah, not Wren…What did that mean?

Still, she was elated to see him. She reached her hand out, noticed that it was shaking slightly, to touch his face, to tell him how long and hard she'd searched for him, how sorry she was, how happy she was to have him back now. Her painful journey was over. She had her love back.

Her hand never made it to his face. In a lightening quick movement, his arm shot up and his hand captured her wrist, vice-like fingers curling around bone and flesh. It was not a gentle hold; it hurt. Stunned, she looked from her captured wrist to his face.

"Don't touch me."

She paused for a few seconds, astonished, then the words came out without her having to think them. "Why wouldn't I touch you, Paris? Do you have any idea what I've gone through to find you again? I love y—"

"I do not care what you have gone through to find me again. It does not matter."

His voice was so cold, his face so unyielding. There was no warmth. She felt suddenly like she had when the Gerudo had taken her from her home in Kokiri Village; she found no tenderness, no comfort. Tears began to burn in her throat, behind her eyes.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter? You're here. You came back for me. …Didn't you?"

He stared blankly at her for a moment, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears. She felt near tears when he didn't immediately answer.

"I came… to return a favor you once gave me."

What favor, she wondered? Why wasn't he smiling, pulling her into his arms, kissing her? _Why!?_

He slapped her. Her neck jerked with the force, her face turned away. Her cheek burned, she felt the tears fall from her eyes, stream down her cheek. She heard gasps, and then silence engulfed the crowded room, silence that weighed a lot.

"You slapped me down when you left me for your Kokiri friends. I have returned the favor." He whispered harshly, hoarsely, low so that only she could hear.

Her hand went to her cheek and she looked back at him, her eyes swimming, the betrayal and hurt there obvious.

He stared at her for a moment, like he couldn't remember what was happening, what he had just done. Then he turned on his heel and walked away from her crisply. The crowd parted to accommodate him, people squeezing away from him, and she watched, mutely, as he went up the stairs, watched until her tears made nothing but a blur of movement out of him.

She didn't understand what was happening. Abby was suddenly there, wrapping her up in her arms and gently leading her through the people, who parted for them, some of the people reaching out to touch Wren, put a hand on her shoulder or rub a small, comforting circle on her back. Then she heard shouts erupting, angry male voices that boomed and hurt her ears. Then a heavy door was closed behind her and she suddenly lost her legs, collapsing. Abby went down with her. She burst into sobs, crying against Abby's shoulder while her friend patted at her back, whispering, "Shh, shh, Wren. It'll be alright, sweetheart. It'll be alright."


	9. Paris's Remorse

**Chapter 9: Paris's Remorse**

When Paris made it outside of the palace, he screamed, a loud, frustrated, angry scream that managed to startle people and beasts alike.

What the hell had he done? How could he have been so cruel and heartless?

Her tears…

He'd made her cry. Damn him to hell, he'd made her cry! He'd expected anger, hatred, fear, longing…anything and everything but grief. Her tears had torn through him…still tore through him. What kind of bastard could he be to have made her cry?

His mind drifted back to when he'd seen her. She hadn't been wholly the woman he had known oh-so-long-ago, but she had born resemblance to Savannah. The way she carried herself, the way her eyes were ever-moving, ever-watchful. Her hair was still that beautiful, mysterious mix of colors he'd loved. She'd looked exotic, a balance between anxious and enjoyment.

He remembered the men around him stopping to look at her. He suddenly feared his reaction—though planned—had stemmed from instant jealousy. She'd walked in on Link's arm. She should have walked in and out on his.

He had gone there for revenge, to make her feel the sorrow he had felt. She obviously felt sorrow. He, however, instead of feeling relief and triumph like he had told himself he would, felt like slime.

He cursed himself nine kinds of stupid as it all sank in. He had hurt her. In her teary eyes, her hand cupping her reddened cheek, he'd seen so many emotions. She'd had hopes, he'd realized. She'd gone there that night to accomplish something and like the coward he was, he'd denied her the chance. He'd been weak and spineless to cover his own vulnerability by creating another for her.

He regretted his actions. Regretted hurting her so, physically, mentally, and emotionally. What he wouldn't give to go back and re-do the night. To change the slap. Be the gentleman he'd been growing up. He could have been—why hadn't he?

The simple fact remained though. No matter what it cost him, no matter how much it pained him, he owed Wren an apology and the chance to make happen whatever she had hoped for. She may not be Savannah anymore…but maybe, just maybe there was hope for something.

--------

Abby came out of Lady Wren's room, closing the door quietly behind her. It was very early in the morning, near two, but she would not sleep that night. The King and Queen stood solemnly outside the door, watching and waiting.

Abby shook her head. "She's not well. I managed to get her changed and into bed, but she's pale as a ghost and shaking something horrible. Her eyes…" Abby shook her head again, her face drawn with pain. "I cannot begin to describe the look in her eyes."

Link sighed furiously. The ball had not gone as he had planned. Wren, despite the brave front she had put up that afternoon, was still very fragile. Paris was an ass to have treated her like that. Wren deserved better. Far better.

"We should give her time to get over the shock. Perhaps she'll be better in the morning," Zelda suggested.

Abby nodded. "Time, I think, would help, milady."

**The Next Morning**

Abby could not rouse Wren the next morning. She'd woken with a start from a shaky sleep and rushed across the threshold to her mistress's room, gone to the bed and put her hand on Wren's shoulder.

Wren lay still on her side, curled up on herself. Her eyes stared blankly at the world, unmoving. Her breathing was steady, if shallow. She didn't respond when Abby tried to rouse her, tried to urge her to sit up.

Food failed to stir her as well. A delicious plate of eggs and bacon and sausage was brought in, the smell of it wafting from the dish. Wren didn't even blink.

She looked so bad that Abigail was near tears when she finally decided to report to the King and Queen, and she could not quite hide the catch in her voice when she spoke.

"She will not move, milady. Her eyes are glued open, but she's not seeing anything. She won't move."

Zelda bit her lower lip, placing a hand on her swollen belly. "Link…"

Link leaned over and kissed his wife on her cheek. "I will see to Wren. Don't worry. You focus on yourself and the baby." He climbed to his feet to follow Abby back to Wren's rooms.

"Has Her Ladyship's labor begun, milord?" Abby asked as she walked with Link.

He nodded. "She has. The doctor assures us it will be some time yet, but…"

Abby nodded. "I understand, milord."

Link walked into Wren's room with his hands clasped behind his back, a frown on his face. He threw back the bed drapes that went all the way around the large bed, then reached out and shook Wren by her shoulders.

Her eyes did indeed stare off into nowhere, unmoving. She hardly blinked, hardly breathed. It was like she wasn't all there.

When his shaking her didn't work, he backed off the bed and rubbed his stubbled jaw.

"Give her time, Abby. Paris's reaction was a shock to us all, especially to her. She needs time to recover. Report to me every hour on her progress."

"Very good, milord."

King Link had sounded like he felt confident there would be progress enough to report each hour, but as he left and Abby looked back to Wren's huddled figure, she felt her heart sink.

--------

**The Outer Courtyard**

Paris looked around at the blooming bushes as he waited for Link to appear. He'd been admitted easily enough, but the glares from the guards had made him somewhat self-conscious.

It didn't matter. None of those around him, except Wren, mattered. Their opinions of him were nothing.

What was taking Link so bloody long? Was something amiss that he should know about? He'd waited till the afternoon, around the same time the ball had started the night before, but not for fashion or strategy. He'd waited because he'd been too nervous to get there any sooner.

Link finally came from the castle, his look deadly. "I presume this is important?" he demanded without preamble.

"I wish to speak to Wren." Paris said with conviction, then, softer, "I owe her much, beginning with an apology."

Link looked at him for a long moment, like he was thinking things over. The look in the king's eyes was pained and hard to judge, but as Paris's heartbeats beat, he became uneasy.

A messenger came bursting through the castle door, scrambling to a halt when he saw Link.

"My lord! The queen—she's—"

Link held up a hand and the man fell silent, then he turned to look at Paris. "I will have you escorted to Wren's rooms, but I warn you…she is not well."

With that, the King of Hyrule stomped off after the man, who immediately resumed the deliverance of his message.

A maid appeared almost as soon as Link had vanished. She curtsied. "If you'll follow me, my lord." She was curt, offering no comfort, or at-ease to speak of.

Apprehension flooded Paris as he neared Wren's room. How would she react to seeing him after what he had done to her? And what had Link meant, she was not well? She'd been fine the night before, surely she wasn't so sick as Link had made it sound.

The maid stopped at a closed door in the middle of a hallway full of doors, curtsied, and left him standing there.

He hesitated as the maid vanished, his heart pounding in his ears, his legs feeling a tad unstable, but then he knocked. He strained to hear some answer, but there was none.

Something desperate suddenly pulling at his heartstrings, he opened the door, leaning in. When no one stirred, he came all the way in and closed the door behind him with a slight click. Still there was no movement in the room besides his own.

He could see, however, a still form lying on the bed behind the bed veil. _Wren._ He could see the colors of her hair through the thin cloth. He went to her, reaching up to pull the curtain away.

She lay on her side, facing away from him. Her nightgown was very loose around her neck, falling off her shoulder, laying along the valley between her ribcage and her hips, then on down the curves of her legs. Her breathing was even; he assumed she was asleep.

Paris reached out to touch her bare shoulder. "Wren?" When his fingers contacted her skin, memories came back to him. _Him holding her shoulders while she wiggled against him, her breast pressed against his face, her nipple trapped in the warm, moist cavern of his mouth._ His other hand touched her hair and he remembered how it had slid over his skin like silk when they'd made love.

"Wren?"

Her lack of response brought him back from his memories. Anger, hurt, even grief, anything…but there was nothing. He turned her over by her shoulder so that she was on her back. He yanked in a deep breath when he saw her dead eyes, jumping back like he'd found a pit of snakes.

It was so horrifying, contradictory. She was breathing steadily, but her eyes…her eyes were dead. The fire was gone. The sparkle, the glee of encouragement and exploration. It was like her body, the shell of her, lived, but inside, she was dead.

The sight of Wren like that brought Paris to his knees. He fell hard without regard for himself, reaching out tentatively to her, to touch her face, her hair, her neck and shoulders. He shook her, dipped his fingers along her curves, even below her neckline in an attempt to raise any kind of reaction from her.

There were none to be had.

Paris wept over her still form. He wept for her, for himself. He wept for his stupidity, for her damn stubbornness, for the cruel world they lived in. He cried so many tears…as many or more than when his brother had died, when Savannah had run him through with her blade.

--------

Near midnight, the Queen Zelda was delivered of a baby girl. Link, hovering protectively over wife and daughter, banished the guards and the midwives, and sat on the bed beside his exhausted queen to stare down at the beautifully perfect baby she cradled in her arms. They named her Savannah.


	10. Reunion

**Chapter 10: Reunion **

Paris refused to leave Wren. Many times throughout the night, maids and guards and official officials came to attempt to persuade him to retire to a room that had been prepared for him. He could come back at any time he wished, but he needed sleep. They begged him, "Milord, please, please milord," but he sent them all away. His focus was his lover. He had eyes only for Wren.

He had done this to her. He had been cruel and heartless and he would never, ever forgive himself…but he needed her to wake.

The sun traced down over the earth as night fell, then back up into the sky as morning seized hold. The light and shadows played over the room, but Paris was almost as still and unaware as Wren was. He hardly moved, barely breathed, refused sleep and food and comfort. At some point during the night, a servant came to tell him of the birth of the princess, and that Zelda and Link had named her Savannah. He thought Wren would smile at that, and the thought of her smiling made him smile slightly. But that was the only reaction to be had from him in a long, long while, and for a longer while to come.

Two days passed. When Paris finally passed out, falling over in his chair from the lack of sleep and the hunger, he was taken to his room and cared for around the clock by a newly hired valet and footman. He slept, regaining the sleep he had lost while tending Wren, for nearly a day, and when he woke, a maid practically shoved food down his mouth. When he discovered that he really was hungry, and the maid had rather rudely informed him that he was doing Lady Wren no good by starving himself, and that if she woke to see him looking thus, she would go back into her shocked stasis, he wolf down everything he could get his hands on.

Wren did not wake those two days.

--------

Link sat at his desk, reluctantly dealing with paperwork. He'd really rather be with Zelda and their daughter Savannah. The name had seem appropriate; hopefully the child would represent the end to troubles Wren had faced as Savannah.

But as the maid bearing the note left his study and he opened up the folded paper, his heart sank. It had been four days since the ball, since Wren had fallen into her unresponsive state. The note informed him, with stark, bare words, that Lady Wren was still impassive. He wadded the paper up in his fist and tossed it furiously into the fire, where it caught, curled, popped and hissed, melting into ashes. How much longer could this last? How much longer could she go without food before dying? Link had insisted on the maids attempting to get some water in her, and Abby had managed a spoonful or two of a thin broth, but nothing solid had passed Wren's lips in days.

Was Wren facing the last days of her life? Was this to be her end, with a remorseful Paris watching and waiting for his beloved to return to him?

----------

Paris walked through the gardens at the Palace without caring. He'd attempted to go back to stay with Wren when he'd finished eating that morning, but been stopped by the armed guards who stood watch at her door. The taller one had bleakly informed him that the Queen herself had instructed that Paris was not to enter for the day, both for his health and for Wren's. Paris had been about to take the issue up with the queen herself, but had stopped. Zelda's door was guarded, too, and with a sigh, he realized he didn't want to disturb Her Highness and the new princess.

So, here he was, walking around without aim, waiting for the day to be up so he could go back to his love. He was really starting to worry about her. There was a line between being in shock and truly no longer of this world. She had crossed the line and he frantically needed her to wake. Selfish though it was, he couldn't take it anymore. If Wren died like this, he would die, too, from the pain that had been steadily spreading through him.

He needed to be near her. Running, now with a reason to his life, he went back to her room, to find it still guarded. He wanted to lean against the door, just to be as close to her as he could, but the guards lowered their spears as soon as he drew near. He gave up with a sigh and sank down the wall opposite her door, staring blankly into nothingness.

--------

Wren lay still, hearing voices in her head, like she had for a long time. She had no idea of how long she had laid there, in and out of that strange trance, but voices swirled around inside her, her eyes blank and black, no aid at all.

_"Aim again, Savannah."_

_"We want you to be our sister."_

_"Do you…do you ever wish you were Kokiri again?"_

_"Wren! NO!"_

_"Roarke…who screamed? Are they—they alright?"_

"_Wren…you screamed."_

"_Kill it. Kill it now."_

"_If you please me…I might be persuaded to keep you. Can you imagine? Me inside you…"_

They mixed and overlapped each other, tormenting her. She felt some things, like the sticky slick of blood running down her arm, gentle hands exploring her body, a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was like she was seeing her life from different eyes, outside of herself. It terrified her that much more, but she couldn't close her eyes, and she couldn't look away.

Everything ricocheted back to Paris's slap. The sound of it as it echoed across the room, bouncing off the people and objects, the sting of it on her cheek, the humiliation that sprouted and grew in that second in her heart, the tears that sprang to her eyes, her mouth agape.

How long had she lain there, paralyzed with her fear and her misgivings? How weak was she to allow herself to do this?

She had to be strong, stronger than this. Hadn't Paris been here? That question burned through her, from her mind to the tips of her fingers, reaching the end of her nerve endings and she jumped slightly. It was enough to jilt her out of her prison of immobility.

She moved her arms, trying to push herself up. She was stiff and found that her body wasn't used to obeying, and didn't want to, but she managed to support herself on her arms. She was in her room in Hyrule Palace, alone.

She gulped, aware that she was very thirsty, then she caught a whiff of her breath and ran her tongue over her teeth, feeling the gunk. She needed a bath. Then she would dress in the best gown the queen had given her, as armor. She needed to find someone to have bath water drawn and brought to her room first though, so she gingerly pushed the covers off of her legs and moved them to the floor. She eased herself up, feeling the disuse of her limbs, but found that she was steady enough. She walked slowly toward the door, a decent ten feet from the corner of the bed. When she was close enough, she grasped the doorknob and leaned on it, swinging the door open.

Paris jerked his head up from where he'd been crumpled against the wall, facing her door.

Shock was in his eyes, then a bright smile spread and he sprang—with an efficiency Wren was supremely jealous of in that moment—to his feet, coming to her, his arms wide. He wrapped her up in his arms, like nothing had happened.

"Wren."

She sagged against him, feeling safe to again be in his arms. When he pulled away, she saw tears in his eyes. "Wren… I was so worried."

She noted that he called her Wren and not Savannah. It lifted her spirits. Savannah no longer existed.

"I…" she gulped, trying to get her throat wet so it would work. "I need a bath."

He drew in a deep breath with a nod and a smile. "Stay right here, I'll take care of it. I'll take care of everything." He turned and rushed off to see about the bath. Wren smiled slightly, then, because her legs were starting to fail her, went back to the bed to wait.

---------

"She's awake!" Paris burst into Link's study, guards trailing behind him. As soon as he skidded to a halt before the large desk Link sat behind, guards seized hold of him from all angles, one apologizing profusely to the King, as they dragged him away. Paris couldn't stop yelling that Wren was awake, and how she wanted a bath.

Link waved the guards off, and their leader bowed before hustling his comrades out. Link smiled as he listened to Paris inform him in great detail that Wren had awakened and requested a bath.

"You have, of course, set the servants about it, correct?" Link interrupted, just to make sure. With the excitement that Paris was in, he wasn't sure anything was getting done.

"Of course I did! But she's awake—!"

Link smiled. It was news that was long overdue. Zelda would be pleased. He was pleased.

"She's awake!" Paris screamed again.

---------

Wren sank low into the warm water and breathed a contented sigh. The water was bubbly and perfumed with lavender. The soaps that had been provided were delicate and fine.

Abby was coiling Wren's hair on top of her head, to be washed later, when the door opened with a small knock to admit Paris. He was smiling recklessly as he entered.

"You're excused," he said absentmindedly to Abby.

The maid fluttered her lashes at Paris. "'Tis hardly appropriate, milord."

"I know." Paris said with a wicked grin.

"It's alright, Abby. I'll be alright."

Abby glared at Pairs, clearly not having forgiven him for what he'd done to Wren, but left with a twitch of her skirts, the glare serving as her warning.

Paris came and knelt beside the tub, his eyes transfixed by Wren's. "How are you, love?"

She smiled, sinking further down into the water contentedly. "Hmm. Better."

He pulled a rose from behind him, where it had been tucked into his waistband, and held it out to her. She took it, the bathwater running down her hands, and put the delicate petals to her nose to smell.

"It's beautiful."

"Like you. I'm sorry, Wren. So very sorry."

She smiled at him, a full-blown smile now, her eyes a-twinkle. "I forgive you,"

He blinked. "You forgive me. Just like that?"

She nodded. "Um-hmm. Just like that."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"Of course," she tiled her head. But then she grew serious. "My forgiveness was never your problem. Your own will be much harder to obtain."

He caught his breath. She had nailed him perfectly. He would probably never forgive himself for hurting her. The heartache he'd experienced had been justified, but not the pain he had caused her and others.

"Would you join me?"

He jerked his head to look at her again. "Excuse me?"

She scooted over in the tub. "Will you join me?" she repeated.

He smiled an wicked smile, stood and started stripping off his clothing, then, once naked, climbed in, pressing his body to hers, kissing her like the world would end if he let her go. Because his, quite literally, would.


	11. Kyle's Thrashing

**Chapter 11: K****yle's ****Thrashing**

Link sent the young messenger out with the note. Hopefully in a few moments he would have permission to visit Wren and Paris in her chambers, where they had remained for three days without hardly leaving. The only bit of the two new-found lovers anyone had seen was them strolling through the royal gardens once, wrapped up in each other. Their meals were left outside their door, dirty and very empty dishes were gathered daily.

Link smiled and stood, walking with his hands clasped behind his back to the floor to ceiling window to one side of his office. Below, he could see the Palace orchard and the farmers tending it. The peach harvest would be ready soon; the fruits were ripe and numerous on their bright-green leaved trees. The vineyard was coming along nicely to have only been planted last year.

It was good that Paris had finally returned to his normal self and gone back to Wren. It was good that they had found each other again. Wren had proven that she could live the life of a Hylian and Paris had proven his love for her. But that didn't mean that their trials were over. Paris was still very much out of favor with a good many people for slapping Wren without reason at the ball all those nights ago.

They had a lot of work to do to restore Paris's good name.

The fact that Link and Zelda still backed him held some weight. And the fact that Wren had taken him back was significant. Maybe when they emerged from their bedchamber, they might even announced a betrothal. But those things really paled when the high ranking guests who had been in attendance that night remembered what had happened. Not so many people had actually seen it, a few more had heard the slap, but word had spread. Some of the more exaggerated versions could be overcome, but the hard-core truth was the most damning and the most damaging.

Of course, Paris and Wren could leave Hyrule for a time, travel about. It wasn't a totally farfetched idea. Link decided he would put it past the couple. But it needed to be done with careful style and a special air, or it would look like a beaten dog retreat—cowering, lowered ears, tail between the legs. They couldn't have that.

There was a sound knock on his door and one of the lower butlers came in and bowed low.

"Your Majesty. Lord Paris and Lady Wren bid you come."

"Thank you, Henry," Link said, walking toward the young man and the door. The butler returned to his post and Link headed down the hall, taking two lefts and then a right before he reached Wren's door.

There, he knocked and the door was opened almost instantly by Abigail. She curtsied to him, a bit of a frown on her face, and let him in. He stepped in and Paris and Wren stood from the table where they had been about to break their fasts at the other end of the drawing room.

Link strode over to the table and joined them as he had yet to eat.

"I take it you two have had a satisfactory few days?" Link asked.

Wren instantly turned a deep shade of red and Paris beamed with completely male pride.

"We have." Paris said. "And we have news."

Link raised a fine eyebrow, guessing mentally at this news.

"Wren's pregnant. We're going to have a baby." Paris was practically floating on his own joy, the smile wide and bright on his face, his eyes dancing.

Link reached out and took Wren's hand into his and kissed her knuckles. "Congratulations, Wren. Paris." He smiled. He knew very well that for Wren to know she was pregnant, they would have had to have become lovers when Paris had still been enlisted in the armed forces of Hyrule, and Wren still Gerudo. But it didn't matter. If anything, it was another testament to their oneness.

"Speaking of babies," Wren said, changing the subject quickly. "How is Savannah?"

"She and Zelda are both well," Link said, smiling as he thought of the tiny bundle of Hylian that he was privileged to call his daughter. "You can see her later, if you wish."

Wren nodded. "I'm flattered by the name, by the way…It's somehow appropriate." She looked at Paris and smiled a secret, feminine smile. "A baby seems the end to so many troubles."

Paris leaned in his chair and kissed her gently, almost chastely on her lips.

"A baby cannot end some troubles, I'm afraid." Link said with solemnity.

Wren and Paris turned to look at him, their bubble popped. "What do you mean?" Paris asked.

"There is the matter of a rather public slap," Link reminded. "You hit a lady of the realm, and even though things have turned out alright between you, your reputation, Paris, as a gentleman, is rather tarnished. If Wren and your children are to have decent lives, your name must be restored."

Paris considered this. Link was right; Wren and their children would forever carry around a wounded name if they did not amend his appalling lack of judgment. And soon.

"What do you propose, Link?" Wren asked.

"My suggestion to you is two attend another ball, one very soon, give the impression of forgiveness from you, Wren, and apologies from you, Paris. Show them that everything is alright between you two, and then gently go away."

"Go away?" Paris asked, his brows drawn together.

"Take an extending vacation. Go about and abroad for a year or so, let everything calm down, let the gossips find some other juicy tidbit, and when you come back, spread stories of a wonderful time."

Wren tilted her head to the side. "Where could we go?"

"Out of Hyrule. Perhaps to the Arsedian Empire? The Hills, or both. Anywhere and everywhere."

The couple looked at each other, communicating with their eyes, then they looked back at him. "Such a trip, as extending and far-reaching as you say, would cost a fortune." Wren said, hesitantly. "Neither of us has the—"

"Now see, that, can be taken care of easily…" Link said, a wicked grin on his face. The two leaned forward when he didn't immediately go on. "If you were to announce an engagement—which would further give the impression of rightness between you—I could easily pay for your honeymoon."

Paris glowed anew with the idea, turning to look at Wren. She had a thunder-struck look about her as she stared, eyes wide, at Link. Link passed an amused glance at Paris, who took it as encouragement.

Paris stood, moving his chair out of the way. Wren turned to watch him as he went slowly, smoothly down onto one knee in front of her. He took her hands into his so that their joined palms rested on her knees. She bit her lips, her eyes swimming.

"Wren, I know I have not been the best lover a woman like you could ask for. The Goddesses know you deserve better…but I want to be your husband. If you'll have me?"

A tear ran down Wren's cheek and her mouth quivered. Her voice was tear-choked when she spoke, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek.

"Oh, Paris. Of course I'll have you."

Paris's eyes were strangely misty too as he pushed himself up to press his lips to Wren's in a much more devouring kiss.

Link laughed softly, standing and backing out of the room, watching them fall into their heady desire. He signaled Abigail to leave and she exited before him.

"Sleep well today, because tomorrow will allow you no rest." And with that, he closed and locked the door, instructing the guards to allow no one in.

--------

**A Week Later—the s****econd Royal Ball of the Season**

Paris was rather uncomfortable. For the ball before this one, the one during which he had utterly humiliated himself, he had worn passably fashionable clothing that had been _comfortable_. Now he was decked out as the best gentleman with the most exquisite taste. His cravat was too tight, the pants hugged his thighs far too much, and the ruffles that foamed around his wrists were far from practical or even probable.

But aside from his clothing, Paris was uncomfortable because people were staring at him. Some were shunning him. One woman had given him the cut-direct—turning away from him with her head held high, her shoulders straight, an obvious display of disdain and un-acceptance. Men were glaring, women were staring, some were scowling as they caught sight of him, few dared not to shy away from where he walked, where he was headed. The crowd generally swayed to the opposite end of the room from where he was, and in a ridiculous crush to get away from a fallen man.

It was damnably prickly. And if Wren's future didn't depend on this night, he would have left. But, for Wren, he pasted a smile on his face and pretended not to notice all of this, and bear his torture in grim silence.

Well, he decided, if he was going to be staying in hell for the evening, he might as well find his heaven. Wren was standing near the punch table, talking with three other grand-looking women. One had peacock feathers in her hair and another was draped in strands of pearls, her hair done up in a neat and elaborate bun. The other wore an earth brown tone with braided decorations.

Paris steered through those gathered, which for him wasn't too hard because the crowd tended to part like the Red Sea for him.

He bowed when he reached her. "Ladies, would you mind terribly if I stole my fiancée away for a brief moment?"

The pearl-draped woman narrowed her eyes on him. He offered up a smile for her speculation and after a split few seconds, her eyes un-narrowed and she offered him a smile. "Of course, go right ahead, my lord."

"Do bring her back, though, my lord," the peacock-feathered one said with a flick of her peacock feather fan.

"Yes, my lord, please return her to us when you're finished, unharmed if you please," Earth-lady said. The last barb was spoken with a deliberate sound in her voice, like she was testing him. He turned and offered her a dazzling smile.

"My lady is always safe with me; her welfare is my top priority." Paris promised, and then he took Wren's hand and pulled her away from the trio, toward the open balcony doors. They stepped outside, into the notably cooler and fresher air.

"Are you alright? You look a little pale," Wren said, touching his cheek. She was stunning tonight in a dress of black and dark green, no hoops or stays, a high waist and a low neckline. Her face paints were light, but under the candle- and moonlight, she was gorgeous. A virtual moon goddess.

"I'm fine," he promised, putting his hand over hers on his cheek. "I just wanted a moment alone with you."

Wren smiled at his words; they warmed her heart. She didn't bother chastising him because this night was important. Instead, she pulled him into her arms and held tightly to him, pushing the world around them out until there was only Paris. Only his arms around her, his body pressed to her front, his smell, the feel of him under his clothes. For a moment, he became her entire world, and she would never have wished it to stop.

But it abruptly did.

Because when she opened her eyes, intent on looking deeply into Paris's while she kissed him senseless, her eyes snagged not on her lovers…but on another familiar pair.

Kyle stood watching her from near the middle of the room, a narrowed and calculating look on his face. His pinched features and shrewd eyes, the way he raked her body with his gaze, everything about him sent a bone-deep shiver through her so that she jerked in Paris's arms.

He immediately opened his eyes to look at her, "What's wrong?"

When she didn't respond, he trailed his gaze along hers to see the man across the way staring at her. He didn't recognize the older man, but he obviously recognized Wren.

She began to shake. Paris turned his attention back to her, stepping between the mysterious man and his fiancée, pulling her to him. "Wren?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes were wide and haunted, not yet swimming with tears, but very glazed over.

Anger rushed through Paris. He hugged her, putting her head on his shoulder. He was not going to let anything ruin this afternoon. And no one would ever hurt Wren again. Ever. It simply wasn't an option with him around.

"He attacked me," Wren whispered, her voice a thread of sound, muffled by his clothes. "He tried to…he touched me."

Wren's mind swirled with memory. She couldn't find breath as she shook. She felt the impression of Kyle's hands on her body, remembered the bite of his nails, his breath on her face, rushing between her breasts. She felt dirty and humiliated all over again. Thank the Goddesses that Paris was there, otherwise she didn't know how she would be managing this right now.

Paris tilted her chin up. His eyes were dark and radiated anger. Then he kissed her gently on the lips and let her go, leaving her feeling rather cold and confused. He turned and she watched in mute horror and fascination as Paris approached Kyle.

When Kyle realized that Paris was coming for him, he tried to flee. The ballroom was so packed, however, that the bastard only managed to worm a few feet from Paris before he was caught.

"My lord," Paris said pleasantly, the steel in his eyes beguiling his words.

Kyle's look of pure terror satisfied Paris—the man obviously knew he was in trouble. "My-my lord," Kyle stuttered out.

Paris's smile was normally-deadly. "My lady Wren tells me that you were less than gentlemanly toward her."

Kyle looked past Paris to Wren. She stared back, a pained look on her face.

"I assure you, my lord," Kyle said, overcoming his stutter and matching Paris's velvet-covered steel voice and comfortable facial expression. "That I don't know any Lady Wren."

"Then why are you staring at her?" Paris leaned forward. "Why does she say you attacked her? Are you calling my fiancée a liar, my lord?"

The panic returned to Kyle's face, his ill-found reassurance forgotten, and he backed up a step. Paris matched it. "You attacked her." Paris spat. "You attacked her and there's nothing to stop you from hanging for it. Never mind a trial, Wren and I are personal friends of the King and Queen."

"My lord, I-I—"

"Don't. You had best pray that Link gets a hold of you first, you bastard, because if I ever cross your path outside these walls here tonight, your properly earned hanging will look good as water in hell. Make no mistake."

Wren could only barely hear what Paris was saying, catching words and rage in his voice. But she could see the full weight of Paris's power hounding Kyle and she was enjoying the look of fear and the way he was backing away from her lover.

But more than that sadistic satisfaction, she was proud of Paris and touched. That he would defend her like he was, it displayed so much. She truly was lucky to have him back.

"Now there is someone worth the gossips' time."

Wren turned to see Link speaking in an undertone to one of the most flighty gossips in Hyrule.

"Oh, what did that man do, Your Majesty?" the woman asked, standing on her toes to see the heated exchange.

"Perhaps you should go find out."

"Oh, yes."

Paris turned and walked back to Wren. This time, though, the crowd did not give way for him out of disgust. People actually swarmed around him, asking questions and quotations. But Paris had eyes only for Wren.

He came to stand before her, a small smile on his face. "He won't bother us again."

"I do love you," she said, tears in her eyes.

"And I love you, Wren. Kiss me?" Paris asked, remembering when he had asked her to kiss him before giving her the reversal potion. He'd lost her then; now he wanted a kiss to seal their future together.

She smiled and he knew she was remembering, too. "Always, Paris. Always."

She kissed him.

**Epilogue**

Wren and Paris did leave to travel the known world—and some of the unknown world, too—shortly after the ball. But before they left, Wren found Beatrice staying in the city. The old woman, frailer then Wren remembered her, cried a great many tears as Wren told her of everything that had happened since they had parted company not so many weeks past.

Beatrice passed on three days later. She died peacefully in her sleep, holding Wren's hand.

While the newlywed couple was in the Hills, Wren gave birth to a daughter. She had her father's light-colored hair and her mother's dark eyes. She also had her mother's temperament, and Paris—though he never said so to Wren—could see much of his younger brother Olean in the child. They named her Vera.

Link had been wise beyond conviction when he'd predicted that upon their return, they would find the gossips chewing on new meat. They were met with nothing but courtesy and curiosity.

Paris took up a government position, working closely with Link, effecting Hyrule like very few were privileged to. Wren also took a government position, but hers was in diplomacy rather than management. Link appointed her the Gerudo's representative. Abinan, Queen Gerudo, met with and personally approved their envoy.

As the years passed, Paris and Wren had eight more children, four girls and four boys. Each child was special and uniquely gifted, but the youngest boy, Rhys, had a defining trait. He was the only member of their horde to have his mother's blood-black-brown hair. It grew in outrageously adorable curls and on that mischievous young boy grew to be a symbol of strong youth, uncommon valor, and dedicated love.

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Aww! I think I might cry. I cannot believe it's over; that at long last Paris and Wren have come full circle and realized they are meant for each other. I'm so very proud of them both. Wren was so traumatized and yet she is still a kind and loving person. Paris was inadvertently betrayed in more than one way and he still held true to what he believed and what he wanted.

Though the epilogue gave a bit of what happens to them after the end of the story here, I wish them all the best. With that many kids, they are going to need it!

I'd like to thank all of the reviewers for the story: **TheFireSage, Thawn716, FireNymphe, and Suburbia.** Very special thanks goes to **TheFireSage **and** Thawn716**; you two were my most faithful reviewers. It means so much that you both read the whole story, enjoyed it, and reviewed.

_Happy Reading and Writing,_

_DreamWeaver010_


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